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Trumpet Glory
OOC Time: September 6th, 2007 around 9pm NCC Medical Ward Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets. Bonecrusher is working (quietly, surprisingly enough) on parts for a bomb at his workbench while he rests off the lingering ill effects of the other day's battle. ~doorswish~ The Med Ward doors slide open and let enter a LOUD HONKING TRUMPETING NOISE. Scavenger marches in and it looks like he's started practicing, dusting off his long neglected musical skills. Bonecrusher is used to loud sounds and so is not startled, but looks blank for a long moment, staring at Scavenger while he tries to think of why Scav might be doing that. Scavenger is still focussed on perfecting his loud noise making, to get back in key, before stopping to think and look around the Med Ward, only now considering he might be disturbing a patient or two he'd rather not suffer their wrath. Spotting Bonecrusher, Scavenger lowers the elongated simple horn instrument and raises his other haind, wiggling his fingers sheepishly. "Oh, sorry about that, Bonecrusher." Bonecrusher squints for a few seconds more before he seems to remember something. "Oh, you're practicing. Right... we were gonna help you freshen up your trumpeting. Wait, why do you want to freshen up your trumpeting? We never have to play these days." Scavenger considers. "Well that's the thing. You never know when we'd be called upon to do so... and I figure the longer the wait, the rustier we'd get. Besides, it's part of our culture. We've too few aspects of our home on this planet unrelated to our war. I would not mind being able to play whenever the mood strikes." Bonecrusher nods thoughtfully. He hates Earth, so this argument is near to his heart. "Okay, I can see what you're getting at." Scavenger motions towards Bonecrusher's project. "Got plans for that?" He circles around for a better look to see what parts are being used. He sets down the trumpet at his side. "Nah, just keeping my hand in, you know," replies Bonecrusher. He's got several fifty-gallon drums packed full of high explosive which have been welded together and sealed, and is now working on a triggering mechanism. "Hey, get me down my trumpet from Scrapper's shelf there, would you? I'll play along with you." Scavenger perks up, you can tell by the way his shoulder joints rise. "Excellent." He goes and rummages through Scrapper's shelf and retrieves an identical horn to his own. Another long medieval looking musical instrument. He offers it to Bonecrusher as he picks up his own once more. Bonecrusher turns in his swivel chair to take the trumpet and bangs it against his palm to shake out the dust. "All right, the Royal Polyhex March. You remember how to purse the... well, make a buzzing noise by blowing through..." He pauses, stymied as he looks at Scavenger's face, which is more like a visor with the beginning of a nose and then a big square box stuck on. "How DO you play the trumpet, anyhow?" Scavenger would grin, had he a pliant faceplate with a mouth like so many other Cybertronians. Once more, it's a fifty-fifty toss up between being a curse and a blessing having no facial features to make expressions. "Micro sensors in the mouthpiece attached to a built in jet that shoots air through the instrument. The mechanisms were finely crafted." Like the rare left handed guitars perhaps. Scavenger twirls the trumpet like a baton briefly before holding it up in ready position. "Royal Polyhex March... alright." Rumble arrives via the imposing metal doors from Mount R'lyeh to the east. Rumble has arrived. Rumble flies in with a grumble. "Couldn't find him!" Bonecrusher and Scavenger are practicing playing the Royal Polyhex March on their trumpets when Rumble comes in; apparently they've just begun. Bonecrusher finishes the verse and puts his trumpet down. "I hear him on the radio, anyhow. They sound real secretive. I wonder what he's up to." Rumble thinks on this. "Hmmm, I reckon I'm stealthy enough to sneak in..." Rumble sneaks off. Badly Rumble takes a steel-spun tunnel, as reflective and color-shifting as energon, to the NCC Spinal Pathway to the south. Scavenger watches Rumble quietly all the while, not too impressed with his own playing and not wanting to give the little Tape-con any reason to open up a can of heckling on him. When Rumble leave, Scavenger says, "Well that was... a start. My pitch got much better near the end. Perhaps something in a lower key? The Fifth Decepticon Dirge?" Bonecrusher nods briskly and brings the trumpet to his lips to begin the mournful tones of the Dirge. Scavenger seems to find this one much easier to settle into, the tempo and the soft pitch allows more time to get back the feeling of working the trumpet. The mournful feeling of the dark piece of music begins to come to life. True music making. Bonecrusher seems to enjoy this one as well, the deep, slow notes expressing the frustration and isolation he often feels better than his limited vocabulary can. He grins at the end of the piece, nodding. "That's a good one!" Scavenger nods appretiatively and lets a few seconds pass in thought. "Perhaps one more, if you the time? Have any favorites?" He drums his fingers along the long handle of his trumpet once. Bonecrusher thinks back. It's been a long time since he played. "Imperious Victors Return?" he suggests, already raising his trumpet to his lips to recall the stirring martial strains. Scavenger smiles internally. Ah yes, he should have guessed at this selection. An uplifting military piece. He, too, raises his trumpet and begins. Decepticon musical culture, unshared with outsiders unworthy of seeing anything beyond the ends of a Decepticon laser barrel, is rich and passionate. Bonecrusher recalls the glory days of throwing down the yoke of the squirmy alien oppressors and ruling Cybertron as her most loyal, conquering sons, in his melody. It would bring a tear to his eye if he A.) had tears, and B.) didn't wear a visor. Scavenger fights hard to reach the highest note in the piece and maintain it solidly, almost wavering but then managing to keep it strong until the next notes that follow. His confidence in his returning skills soars just as Bonecrusher's spirit does with the memorial music. It ends and he lowers his trumpet. Bonecrusher grins broadly and claps Scavenger on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! Thanks for coming by and getting me thinking about that again, Scav. We should all play more often." Scavenger nods gratefully. "Thank you. We've got the old glory pumping through our fuel lines again now with this."